


the 20th of august

by orphan_account



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Codependency, F/M, Fluff, Hormones, aos au, i can't summarise to save my life i'm sorry, the tags will add up as the story goes, young!jemma is a dork
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2014-11-22
Packaged: 2018-02-24 15:02:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2585714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They first meet when they're fifteen, they last see each other when they're thirty-five. They've been beside each other the whole damn time. Strangers, friends, rivals, enemies, lovers, they have been all that, and so much more.<br/>Twenty twentieth of august.</p><p> </p><p>Inspired by the book <i>One Day</i> by David Nicholls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 2002

**Author's Note:**

> If you spot some typos (english not being my first language) or some incoherences with the whole MIT thing, please do let me know with a comment or a private message!  
> x

She jerks awake, bumps her head into a metallic thing with a _clang_ and sinks back into her own seat with a suffering-looking face and a hand flying to scan her scalp for eventual damage. Not really her favorite way to wake up.

"Are you alright?" she hears, coming from the man next to her, thick Scottish accent, sandy curls falling over his forehead.

"I'm fine, thank you" she answers, rubbing her head with the same pained grimace on her face. "Were you--" she stops when she sees the dark spot on his green shirt.

_Oh God. This is not happening._

He notices her face changing from suffering to mortified and he blushes, and proceeds to chuckle awkwardly. He's adorably cute, she thinks. And embarrassed. Half as much as she is.

"Did I-- God, why didn't you-- God, I--"

"S'alright" he interrupts her, smiling, cheeks still pink. "You looked peaceful so..." He shrugs her embarrass away and Jemma feels herself becoming redder and redder. A nice, still half-asleep, red tomato who just _drooled_ on the stranger next to her in the plane, who looks about her age _and_ is adorably cute. She curses herself under her breath.

"I really am sorry."

"Don't be. S'alright."

No it's not alright. She's not going to be alright, not anymore, not ever. She wipes away the last remaining of drool under her bottom lip (shame bites her again, deep inside her tummy, and she notices the stranger looks away and tries his best not to laugh) and looks at him closely, brows furrowed. He pretends to look away into the plane porthole, cheeks still pink, ears a very vibrant shade of red. He is arching his body discreetly, like he is stretching after being still from a long time. She realizes he was staying still for her to sleep. He looks about her age, he is adorably cute, _and_ a gentleman. Perfect, really. Except she drooled on him.

"Jemma" she says, holding out her hand. He stiffens, looks at her, then her hand, then her again, wide-eyed. "Jemma Simmons."

"Fitz" he answers, shaking her hand weakly.

The discussion falls off two minutes later, with awkward giggles and blank stares. Fitz has never been talkative and he gets the feeling that Jemma Simmons feels awkward and embarrassed and plays nice to forgive herself, not because she is interested in anything about him. He doesn't care much of her drooling over him, really. The tiny, wet, dark spot on his shoulder is already fading, and she looked lovely while sleeping. More peaceful than she is right now, looking around nervously, playing with her fingers, opening her mouth to say something before shutting it close.

"Is everything alright?" he asks again, genuinely worried, and she laughs nervously.

"Yes. Yeah, I am just really, really embarrassed. I don't want you to think I'm the kind of girl napping on people to flirt with them."

The words slip out her mouth before she can stop them. Jemma Simmons: how to make things more and more awkward each passing second. She wonders if this awkward, witty, talking about _flirting_ Jemma Simmons is the Jemma Simmons she's going to be in the US.

Fitz flashes red and he looks like he is about to combust.

"That would be surprising."

"I'm full of surprises, actually."

"No doubt" he smiles. There's a little awkward silence. "I don't think you're that kind of girl. You just look tired."

"I'm exhausted" she concedes. "Can't wait to be jet-lagged."

He nods in agreement.

"What's bringing you in Boston?" she says casually, as he turns his head from her to watch the Atlantic ocean through the porthole.

He doesn't seem bothered by her talking to him, she notices, but sighs lightly as if to gather his thoughts. Fitz doesn't turn back to her when he answers, and she can see his reflection on the glass. He looks at the clouds, and the ocean, with curiosity and never-ending admiration, like he has never seen them before.

"Starting of uni."

"Oh really!" She can't help but sound excited. She hates herself for that when he looks at her over his shoulder, surprised and questioning. "Me too. Where are you going?"

"MIT. Engineering."

He blushes and she wonders why and then decides it does not matter and smiles. The kind of smile that tears her face in two and makes her eyes wrinkle and deepens the little parenthesis around her lips.

"Me too! Biology," she adds, and he turns to face her, eyes sparkling with interest. "That's crazy we meet like this on the plane. What were the odds! I thought I'd have to face it alone, the whole new school, new country, new life thing. Not that we will keep contact or anything!" she quickly adds. "I mean, only if you want to. I'm just-"

"- relieved to know someone already. "

"Exactly." she sighs.

He nods knowingly, and she notices his eyes wander up the ceiling, his lips tightening up into a white line as he thinks of something to say.

"I was kinda afraid too" he reveals, looking sheepish. "Thought it would be hard to get on with people there."

"Yes! Plus, they are mostly _americans_."

"Dear Lord. What did we bring ourselves into?"

They both laugh and Jemma thinks the way he says _we_ is charming.

* * *

They're still talking enthusiastically in the airport terminal, never running out of subjects to discuss even after five hours of rambling in the plane, much to the displease of the other passengers. Fitz even waits for her when she's waiting for her luggage to come, even though he already has his. They stop talking when they realize two men in suit and tie are standing in front of them, holding little papers with their names written on it. Their surnames are in capitals, bigger, just under their first names; from afar, you can read _FITZSIMMONS_ very clearly and Jemma thinks it sounds lovely.

"Leopold?" she smiles, and he pulls a face at her.

"Fitz is alright" he grumbles, and she laughs.

"Well then" she says when there is no escaping the two taxi drivers from the same company. "Was a pleasure to meet you Leopold Fitz."

Jemma Simmons holds out her hand, little smile on her lips, eyes wrinkling. He looks at her, then her hand, then her again. He notices the little freckles on her face, the strand of hair she keeps pushing back behind her ear, her hands shaking discreetly and the purple bags underneath her hazel eyes.

He takes her hand, shakes it with more confidence than before, and reaches for his phone with his left hand. He hands it over to her and blushes when she smiles brightly at him, perfectly understanding what he wants.

"It was lovely, Jemma Simmons" he says as the silence settles in, only broken off by the sound of her fingers clicking the keys of his old Blackberry.

She lifts her face, gives him the phone back.

"Text me your number, alright?" she says as she goes over the taxi driver holding out her name. "See you around, Fitz!"

"See you around, Jemma."

She waves her hand once before turning her back on him, and he can't help but smile like a goof before looking down at his phone. Fitz doesn't even think of the waiting-two-days-to-text/call-a-girl-after-meeting-her rule. His fingers do hover over the buttons though, thinking of a witful text to send her, and he bites his lower lip, and can't help but think he's being pathetic.

"Bloody hell" he mutters as he types, and then slips the phone back in his jacket pocket and walks to his taxi driver.

 

**TO: JEMMA SIMMONS, 19:34**

fitz here

**FROM: JEMMA SIMMONS, 19:34**

First american text! Yay! See you around, Leopold!!

 

 


	2. 2003

He can't help but roll his eyes when she asks him the question that has been burning her tongue since the first words they exchanged:

"And Jemma?"

And as always, Fitz plays dumb even though he knows his mother can see right through him. Even when they are kilometers apart, speaking through the phone.

"Jemma? Yes, what about her?"

"Is she alright?"

"S'pose."

"Are you...?"

"What?"

"You know."

"What? What do I know?"

"Leopold."

"Are you already losing your head, mother?"

" _Leopold_!"

Fitz can't help but groan, and yet grin at the same time. He curls the phone's wire around his index finger, half bored, half nervous.

"She's my best friend, mum."

"You're living together, Leopold, and don't you dare tell me this is nothing."

He just shrugs now, looking blankly through the window. Boston is barely waking up, it is the beginning of the afternoon in Glasgow. He wonders how it is like, back there. If people have changed as much as he has, if his childhood sweetheart Keira still thinks of him, if her old bones don't keep his mother from taking long walks in the city. Fitz won't ask her because he knows she would lie, she would tell him she does go on long walks, and she is alright, getting better and better! But he knows that's not quite true.

Even though he doesn't say a word, his mother knows what he is thinking. That's how it is with Leopold and Catherine Fitz: they always know everything about each other, even an ocean apart. Just like with Jemma.

Except Jemma is his best friend.  _Period._

"I wish you were here, Leo, but--"

"I know, mum. Can't afford it" he snaps, and regrets immediatly the bitterness in his voice. "I just thought, with me moving in with Jemma, without the accomodation fee..." He sounds like a whining baby now. His chest is heavy, his throat is dry.

"I am so sorry, Leo."

Fitz closes his mouth, his eyes and the pernicious voice which is singing in his ear:  _if only if only if only if only_.

* * *

When she opens the door hours later, Jemma chuckles as she sees Fitz lying on the couch, head upside down, mouth half open, stretching his hand to take another crisp from the bag on the table.

"You're like a butterfly," she says teasingly while closing the door. "You have all these colors on your wings but you're stuck to be an overweight larva."

"This is not funny, Simmons. Hand me the bag."

She giggles as she gives him the crisps and brushes his forehead with the tip of her fingers.

"I'm just kidding, Fitz," she clarifies, voice soft and gentle, never wanting to offend him.

Jemma puts the grocery bags on the kitchen counter and does her best to ignore the burning look Fitz sets on her back. It's distracting, really. She can feel, deep in her bones, his blue eyes staring at her, sending discreet shivers of discomfort and pleasure down her spine. Her mother once told her: 'every good-looking lady knows when she is observed, Jemma, and every  _very_  good-looking lady knows she is  _always_  observed, so you must  _always_ hold yourself.' Even though it's  _only_  Fitz, Jemma straightens her back, starts to hum discreetly like someone who does not care that she's being looked at, and proceeds to act the most gracefully she can.

Her efforts are destroyed when she slips accidentally on the wet floor, a gasp caught in her throat, her eyes wide and her mind racing, thinking of all the way she could die right here right now in her Boston flat's tiny kitchen.

For a second or two, she can perfectly picture Fitz running to her, catching her before she falls and dragging her to the couch to check if she's okay, knight in a shiny armor-like. Jemma just falls with a  _bang_  and a lot of disappointment, and Fitz raises his head above the couch to look at her, looking surprised and mocking.

"Simmons, meet floor."

"Shut it, Leopold," she groans as a response, and he chuckles as he goes to her to help her up.

She's already on her feet when he faces her.

"Are you alright?" he asks, and there are stars in his eyes. Real stars. Stars of wonder, Jemma thinks, and sparkles of affection.

"My butt hurts," she pouts.

"I'm not massaging you."

Jemma rolls her eyes and goes to the couch to lay down, while Fitz puts the groceries away. He soon joins her on the couch, sits way too close to her and she immediatly curls up to his side, as he holds out an arm to press her shoulder. She feels warm, and close, and safe, but her butt still hurts and embarassment bites her down even though it's  _only_ Fitz.

"I'm still not massaging you, Jemma."

"You're ruining the moment, Fitz."

"I'm not ruining anything. I'm just saying."

They both get quiet at the exact same time, sigh and close their eyes. A few minutes pass and when Jemma hears her best friend's breath go long and steady, as he starts to fall asleep, she opens up her eyes to look at him. She can't see much from where she is, being so close to him, but yet feels so much love, and friendship, and affection, and everything you can build for your best friend  _slash_ roommate  _slash_  lab partner  _slash_  probably science soulmate in a course of a very little year.

Jemma never expected her life to change  _this much_ during this last year. Of course, moving to another country, going to MIT, starting a new life accross the ocean on her own, well, of course she expected her precious life from Ashburton, Devon, England to be shaken up. But not  _this_ much. Especially not by an ever-angry Scot with an awful taste in clothes and a worrying admiration for monkeys.

"You're staring."

"You have a zit on your cheek, Fitz."

Fitz groans and pushes her away. Jemma smiles fondly, looking at him, searching his face with his palms to find the said zit. He doesn't even notice her voice rising up or her teeth biting down her lip, the obvious symptoms of Jemma Simmons's lies; he just faces her, eyes full of trust and affection and friendship and love, and groans:

"Where? Where is it, Simmons?"

And Jemma laughs, because he is everything she ever wanted in this life.

* * *

It's late and he can't sleep and he watches TV and there are no Doctor Who reruns just like he likes them so he just stares blankly at a dark documentary on... whatever this thing is.

"Fitz?"

He jumps when he hears the voice, adrenaline rushing through his veins, even though the only person who can be here is... Jemma, staring at him from her bedroom's doorframe, looking worried, brows furrowed and mouth pouting. She always pouts, this one. Fitz thinks it makes her look cute. She knows it.

"Jem, go back to bed, it's late."

Jemma opens up her mouth to protest but yawns and he can't curb the small smile which takes place on his lips.

"You're not in bed," she grumbles, stepping forward. "And I can't sleep," she adds when he looks like he is about to say something.

She stumbles onto him and lets herself fall down on him. He groans, moves to find a better position for him, a more comfortable one for her, and then again she curls up again his chest, eyes closing, mouth smiling.

"Nightmare?" she mutters, and he nods even though she can't see him. She doesn't have to, she knows. Jemma never asks him why, or who, or when, not since this late night of april. Fitz remembers breaking down, crying, screaming, and Jemma holding him as close as possible and the pain, the sorrow, the oh so present grief growing stronger and stronger and stronger and stronger. And her arms, gentler and gentler and stronger are circling him like he's falling and he is actually but she catches him up - like she will always do from now on. That's the night, a cold, late, terrible april night, when they became best friends. Forever and ever. "I'll cuddle you to sleep. Don't get an awkward boner, Fitz."

"You know I wouldn't control it."

"I'm trying to mundane-talk to you, Leopold, don't be rude."

"You make no sense."

"Avoid my natural splendor so you don't get a penile tumescence."

"Alright. Time to sleep, Jemma. Good night."

She yawns and Fitz looks down to see her smile softly and his chest explodes.

"'Night, Fitz."

"Sleep tight, Jem."


	3. 2004

Jemma is singing softly, Fitz notices after a while. He's been driving for hours now, watching the road carefully, his lips reduced to a white thin line as he concentrates to avoid them getting crashed in a car accident. He looks stern, and focused because he shut down the world so he could concentrate; but now, the road is empty and is straight to whatever there is at the end of the highway, and he relaxes. Jemma sings, almost hums next to him, voice shy, lyrics known by heart.

Fitz smiles, looking at her in the corner of his eye. He reaches for the radio and turns the volume up and she looks at him with astonishment and then, she smiles shyly with a flush of pink on her cheeks. He half-sings with her, makes exagerrated faces at her, smiles to her and Jemma dances on her seat and pretends to have a mic and they would be mortified if anyone were to see them but they are alone on the road.

When the song ends, Jemma turns down the volume, just a bit, and turns to face him. Fitz glances back at her, with a little flickering smile on his lips, and his brows furrow when he notices she looks unsettled.

"Jemma? What is it?"

"I-- Fitz did you-- Goodness, this is--"

"You want to talk about S.H.I.E.L.D."

He always knows. The way she tangles her hand together, plays nervously with them. The way her eyes meet his and then go away and then go back to him. The way she plays with her lower lip, bites it down, her brows furrowing and arching simulnateously on her forehead. He knows her all too well.

"Fitz it's just-- I'm--"

"Scared to go alone," he completes, and she nods.

He is looking at the road, now. Jemma can tell it is forced because he is squinting his eyes and his bottom lip disappears in his mouth and there is no one on this bloody highway so there is nothing to watch. But Fitz does watch the road carefully and she still plays nervously with her hands.

"I don't want to go alone," she says softly.

 _I don't want to be Simmons only_.

The nickname stuck through MIT. At first, it annoyed her because it meant they _had_ to stay together, for they were both Brits, both younger that you'd expect and both what your average MIT student calls geniuses. They _had_ to bond and nobody took her seriously, because she was younger, and nobody felt like they needed to make friends with her, because there was already Fitz here for her.

Now, Jemma can't picture anything without him by her side. She can't be without him. It's sad, when she thinks of it, this codependcy which is meant to end in heartbreak and screams, but what can she do? She found a soulmate in Leopold bloody Fitz, and that's all there is to know about Fitzsimmons.

(Oh, and one more thing there is to know: sometimes she feels like she loves him 200% and he loves her 50% because that's how it is, loving a boy who is always 50% elsewhere and it _hurts_ so much when she wonders if he thinks of her the way she thinks of him. They never talk about it.)

"I-- Fitz, I mean it, I can't do it without you."

She is stumbling over her words now, something she is not used to. Words come unfold to Jemma, they add up and add up and add up and make instinctively sentences in her mind: she knows precisely what to say, what word she has to use to say it. But when she stares at his greyish blue eyes, there are no words.

From where he is, Fitz sees her frowning again, like she is trying to put a definition on something - her feelings or her thoughts, he assumes - and he keeps quiet for once. Because this time, her head is all locked up to him.

"You're my best friend." It shouldn't but it makes him shiver. They never talk about it. Feelings. They're friends, alright, roommates, best friends maybe - but the word sounds different out loud. Too real. "You're my best friend in the whole world. I know we haven't known each other for a long time but I-- you're still my favourite person and I _know_ it sounds silly but I really like you, as my best friend of course, because I never expected to find someone like me, I mean, someone like you out there, and I can't let you go, I can't just, you-you know."

"What?"

"Oh, Fitz," she cries and he looks at her with concern, for he is afraid she is more confused than she pretends. "I'm scared to do it without you."

* * *

 

When he parks in the little parking lot by the motel, when the motor shuts down and the silence suddenly surrounds them, Fitz blushes. It's silly, blushing into the void; but he can't help it, as he realizes the awkward silence that fell upon them is his fault. He didn't answer to her confession and the last three hours until the motel were spent dwelling and talking quietly about the weather and mother UK. He hates himself.

"Jemma..." he tries, as he turns to face the passenger seat. But she's already gone and he leans down until his forehead touches the wheel. Multiple times. Harder and stronger. He barely notices her walking onto the motel and entering, turning her back to him (so he doesn't see the little tears by the corners of her eyes). "I'm sorry."

But there is no one to hear, for she is not here.

* * *

 

Jemma is sitting on the double bed when he enters the room she took for them. She feels embarassed, and awkward, and terribly stupid. She realizes she shouldn't have brought it up. She knows how he feels about her future, he knows how she feels about his, they know they both feel misplaced and angry and stubborn; why did she talk about it? No point. She was just being stupid. She needs to apologize.

"I am so sorry," they say in unison.

Fitz chuckles, she smiles faintly.

"You first," they both add.

She hates it when they do that. When they are so in sync they begin two, three, ten sentences at the exact same time. Completing each other's sentences? Alright. Starting the same sentences at the same time? Weird.

(She loves it. It makes her feel whole.)

"Jinx!" they cry at the same time.

Fitz rolls his eyes, closes the door room and comes to her to sit on the edge of the bed; Jemma hugs her pillow closer.

"I'm sorry. I was being an idiot and I should have said something," he says, playing with the covers, embarassed.

"I am the one who's sorry, Fitz. I should have never brought it up. It's just-"

"-so scary. I know."

"I feel insane," she confesses after two minutes of thinking silence. He nods in agreement. "I shouldn't make such a big deal out of it. Oh Fitz, I'm so sorry."

"Don't be, Jemma. We should just forget about it, yeah?"

They remain silent for a while. Fitz relaxes and lays down on the bed, watches the muted TV while Jemma stays sit, hugging her pillow closer and closer. She glances over at him once or twice, when she sees he is about to say something, but doesn't push him. She knows it wouldn't help.

"Jemma..." Fitz says after what feels to be an eternity. "You're my best friend in the whole world too. I mean it. I know I'm not good with words and everything but I just want you to know that, err... you're my best friend, okay? And if it weren't for the money, I wouldn't go to Stark Enterprises. Mum's very sick and, you know, it's getting worse and- and we really need it. I would _love_ to go with you at S.H.I.E.L.D Academy, you know that, yeah?" There is gravel in his voice. Jemma can see he is on the verge of tears. "I don't know if I can do it without you either."

Jemma looks at him for ten seconds exactly. She actually counts them, from ten to zero, her face unreadable even for her best friend. Then she crumbles to him and hides her nose in his neck. Usually, Fitz just freezes and stands still, barely moves slightly to be comfortable. This time, his arms wrap around her and he holds her tight, like he never did before, his nose in her hair and his chest throbbing as he cries silent tears.

 _This is toxic_ , Jemma thinks. _Why am I so attracted to him? Why is he so important? He shouldn't be so important. I am glad he is but he shouldn't be. Look where it's driving you, Jemma, all sensitive and crying and heartbroken just because he decided to part ways. Three years ago, remember he was a total stranger met on the plane._

His fingers are digging into her flesh, his arms' muscles playing under his skin to hold her even closer. Jemma closes her eyes and tries to imagine their life at S.H.I.E.L.D together. And then her life alone.

"I thought," she whispers after a while. "You ditched me because you didn't care."

Her voice is full of tears. She hates it.

Fitz clings even more to her.

"You're not ditchable, Jemma."

His voice is weak and sore. She hates it even more.

"Damn right, bestie."

"I'm going to pretend you did not just say that."

Their constant bickering is lifeless, their minds wandering ahead, in a future where they are separated. A future which is only a month or so from now on.

"Promise me we'll never stop being best friends, Fitz."

"I promise you, Jemma."

"Pinkie-bestie promise?"

"Yeah. Pinkie-bestie promise."

Their fingers lace and hold on tight.


	4. 2005

He's miserable. Fitz never had the time to be miserable in a man cave before. He lived with his mother until he was fifteen, then he moved to Boston to study at the MIT, where he shared a room with a dude named Erik, then he moved in with Jemma when she offered it to him and for a whole school year he lived peacefully with her. Now, it's been more than nine months that he is on his own in a dirty old flat in Brooklyn, and he didn't expect his solitary adult life to be this... miserable.

He's on vacation so he doesn't care much if the place is messy and not work-inspiring. There are blueprints everywhere, old socks and boxers somewhere between the couch and the kitchen, old Thai takeouts and random bottles of beer in the corners. He is lying down in front of the TV, still jet-lagged from the Glasgow-NYC flight home from the holidays ( _home_ is now New York, not Scotland, and this thought makes him sick), playing Tomb Raider on his Playstation 2 when his phone rings.

Fitz's phone never rings. It vibrates when he gets a text from the lab - _you forgot something, Fitz!_ \- or when someone texts a wrong number. But this time, it rings, and he recognises the number on the screen as Jemma's. He immediatly answers.

"Jemma?"

"Uh... Fitz?"

"Jemma!"

He sounds too excited. He clears his throat, tries to cool down, to stop grinning into the void.

"Good God, it's so good to hear from you, Fitz."

"And from you. You never responded to my email."

He's not being fair, he knows that. And the bitterness in his voice doesn't help. He curses himself under his breath.

"Er... sorry about that, Leo. I've been busy." They get quiet for ten seconds, as he lets his mind wander to _S.H.I.E.L.D Academy_ and the classified things she can't talk to him about, and he is somewhat disappointed and jealous and curious - yet he remains silent. "What about you? How is it at Stark Entreprises?"

"It's lovely. I get to work on this old prototype--"

He rambles and rambles and she answers and completes his sentences and it's like they're back in the living room of their shared Boston flat, talking about their thesises and personal projects and Fitz is so happy he thinks he might combust.  
Jemma excuses herself after an hour of science babbling, takes the phone back five minutes later and Fitz feels bad. He hears the laugh in her voice, and the discreet 'Knock it off, Joan!' she cries to a girl who must be her annoying roommate at _S.H.I.E.L.D Academy_. The awkwardness he feels becomes jealousy and he has to breath in and breath out deeply for a second or two to calm himself. They've made their choices. No need to go back on it.

"Pardon me, Fitz. Roommate being annoying."

_Called it._

He never fought with Jemma over the phone. He never tried to hear what she was saying to her boyfriends when she was on the phone. He never made assumptions of her about the eventual boyfriends she was talking to over the phone.

_He would be a much better roommate at S.H.I.E.L.D Academy_.

"Fitz?" she asks when he doesn't reply. He can almost see the worry on her face, brows furrowed, bottom lip lightly bitten down.  
"Sorry. Was saving the game."

They talk about video games now, but not with the passion they talked about science earlier. They soon fall into a not so comfortable silence.

"Why did you call?" he then asks, curious, handling his joystick while sticking the phone between his ear and his shoulder.  
"Just wanted to hear from you, Fitz, that's all. And oh! Happy us anniversary!"

She sounds so excited. Fitz can perfectly picture her pleased with herself smile, the faint stars in her hazel eyes, her face softening and laughing. He pauses the game and closes his eyes, lets himself imagine Jemma as he remembers her.

"You know we met precisely three years ago."

"Precisely?"

"Not really. We met three years and around two, or maybe three, hours ago to be fair," she precises. "In the plane from London to Boston, remember?"

"I remember you drooling on my shoulder."

"Fitz! That's not fair!" Jemma cries and Fitz grins.

"Well that's what happened, Jemma. I'm just saying."

"It's embarassing enough!" And then a furious whisper: "Stop it, Joan, I won't tell you! As for me," she quickly adds to him, "I remember you were sweet and nice and gentle. I remember noticing you were standing still so I could sleep on your shoulder, even though I was," she's whispering now, and Fitz imagines her with a hand around her mouth and the phone for Joan not to hear "drooling."

"That was sweet. You looked cute."

"Did I?"

"Well, yeah."

Fitz blushes to himself and scratches awkwardly his neck. _Cute_. No big deal. Jemma was indeed cute and he was her best friend so he could tell her that. No big deal. Really.

"I thought you were cute too. Charming, even."

_Charming_? That's a big deal.

"I really thought something could have happened between us at the MIT."

"... sweet. What happened to your obvious crush on me?"

"I got to know you."

Fitz rolls his eyes in exasperation and Jemma laughs when she hears him groan through the phone.

(He notices she was not lying (he would have been able to tell)).

"That's it, you're not being nice, I'm hanging up."

"Oh, Fitz!"

"Don't _oh, Fitz_ me, it doesn't work."

" _Fitz_!"

"Bye, Jemma."

Fitz hangs up with a big smile on his face, stares at his phone screen for a second then puts it back on the table. He allows himself five minutes to dwell on her and the something that could have happened at MIT.  
He is mindlessly playing Tomb Raider again when his phone vibrates four times.

**FROM: JEMMA SIMMONS, 17:34**  
I missed talking to you, Fitz, and it was so good to hear from you. Sorry again I didn't answer your emails. I hope we will see each other soon enough - maybe before my courses start?

**FROM: JEMMA SIMMONS, 17:35**  
IM NI LOVE WIHT YUO!!!/!?!!

**FROM: JEMMA SIMMONS, 17:35**  
Roommate, sorry!

**FROM: JEMMA SIMMONS, 17:38**  
I didn't send this to you for you to believe I'm in love with you (which I am not), then wait for your response (shall I be disappointed you didn't answer?) to gauge your reaction!!

When Fitz takes the phone in his hand and reads the texts, a mischievious grin spreads across his features. As he is about to answer, he gets another one.

**FROM: JEMMA SIMMONS, 17:40**  
Fitz!! Please answer!! I am not in love with you!!!!!

**TO: JEMMA SIMMONS, 17:45**  
its ok jem i always knew it. im attending a bruce banner conference next sunday in nyc. about gamma radiations or whatever. my boss wants me to go and i think i can get you an invite as well. would you like to join me?

**FROM: JEMMA SIMMONS, 17:46**  
Don't get cocky, Leopold. It would be a pleasure obviously. :-)

**TO: JEMMA SIMMONS, 17:47**  
brilliant. emailing you the details tonight. great talking to you.


End file.
